


He Breathed.

by Random_ag



Series: from the Unpublished Works of Joey Drew [10]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Fiction in the Fiction, Hey you! Yes you!, Pain, Post-Canon, fuck you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22362028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: Somewhere, he lives.
Series: from the Unpublished Works of Joey Drew [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586380
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	He Breathed.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Pizzocchero had died.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Everything he had was gone.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

So cold, so terribly cold at night, and so frightening, so horribly frightening in the day, and so much, so very much for a life worth living, for a candle worth keeping lit, for an aged dress worth keeping, for an old house worth continuing standing, for a pair of lungs worth breathing, for a heart worth beating, for a body worth functioning, was it worth it? Was it worth it? For the torture to continue, for the visions to continue, for the fear to continue, for the loneliness to continue, for the breathing to continue, was it worth it? Was it worth it? In a cold world, in a world where no fur nor wood could shield him from the cold and the fear anymore, in a world where all you could do was be born and live and be abandoned and live and find something and live and lose it and live and see all you touch die and live and die, was it worth it? Was it worth it? To be alone?

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

He was tired.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

He was tired of breathing, and beating, and moving, and being alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

What a terrible, horrible, noisy sound, breathing, what a meaningless sound, what a haunting sound, what a blaring sound, what a lonely sound.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Make it stop.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Make it all stop, and there would be happiness.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

“Goodnight. And don’t dream me.”

“NO!”

Arms wrapped around his chest and arms as he was taking the step that would have snapped his neck, pulling him back onto the wooden structure, and Eska wailed. He pulled at the chord desperately to cease his horrendous breath as he yelled and shouted and screamed to rid himself of that damned air, that poison that kept him living - was it worth it, was it worth it, was it worth it - that kept him suffering, but the arms around him held him closer, kept him standing, fought with his self-destructive grip, and the voice kept repeating no, no, no, Eska, Eska, no, no - and there, right there, it broke, and he inhaled sharply, mouth agape yet silent, eyes wide, perfectly still.

Kim held him with all the strength he could muster, crying against his back and muttering, pleading, begging, no, no, Eska, Eska, no, Eska, no, no, no, no, no.

He held onto him as Eska bent down to shout as hard as he could while crying his eyes out, his head still caught in the deadly but soft embrace of the noose; he did his best to keep their footing steady, to make sure his movements didn’t jerk the two of them into a vague lulling stasis feet above the ground; he kept an iron grip around his son and cried on his back and begged, begged, begged as he heard him scream.

“ESKA!”

Eska wailed harder. His eyes were stuck together in the flowing of tears and the voice below him had already shattered before he could even think of hearing it. He shook his head aimlessly left and right, left and right, left and right, with the fury of being stuck in a cage too small for his body, wanting to at least fall and get hurt and make his skin crawl with pain and broken bones and shards of them piercing his sides and organs to set his blood free, but if he were to do that the arms that ground him - or something else, something even more important, like the face that pressed against his spine, would have split in half or fourths or twelveths on the floor and he wouldn’t have ever wanted that to happen.

There were more voices, ladder get the ladder the stepladder something get it over here quick quick dear God quickly bring it over quickly quickly lower him try to make him step on it wait wait get the rope off get the rope off first he needs to get the noose off first and then Niamh arrived to very close to him and her hand wrapped gently around his ankle.

I’ve got him, I’ve got you, don’t worry, I’ve got you, it will be alright, I’ll catch you. She was crying. She was crying, crying softly but desperately. Eska sobbed and howled - the rope left his neck and went up, up, over his head as a single arm still held him around the waist, and then two arms rose to clench under his armpit, and he began lowering into another pair of stronger arms.

I’ve got him - I can’t let him go - I’ve got him - I can’t - Come down - I can’t - Try to come down - Don’t let him fall - I won’t - Don’t let him fall - I won’t let him fall

Shivering and kicking and yelling and sobbing in a wail, Eska bent towards the ground and called for his parents. Thin ebony with soft ivory answered his pleas, wrapping around him in a duplicitous embrace full of whispering hushes, of warm comfort, of freightened tears sublimated in caring kisses.

He screamed, then cried, then huffed, then sniffled.

Finally, held, protected, loved, warmed.

He breathed.

No story is ever false. Somewhere, it has happened. Not in your world, maybe. But somewhere, it has happened. Its existence is what proves it true, consumed, completely devoid of lies. In another world.

Your son and his little brother fall asleep in the bed you share with your husband. He finds my nephew a worthy friend for his sibling, and he brings lavander to the graves of his old pets. He is happy. He is breathing. He is alive.

Not here. But, somewhere.

I know it will never be enough, but… It’s all I can give you.

_Niamh began crying before she could finish reading. She laid the sheet of paper on the table and fell into her old friend’s arms, burying her face into his neck._

_“It’s enough.” she whispered. “It’s enough.”  
_

_Joey hugged her back, stroking the octopus tattoo on her back._


End file.
